There Goes a Horseman
by Parda
Summary: Cassandra gets her revenge. a "what if" story


There Goes a Horseman

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_by Parda _September 1999

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1 November 1996, The Dojo, Seacouver

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Cassandra was hunting. She was on the trail of Kronos, the last of the Four Horsemen, and today she was going to find him, and she was going to kill him. She took the elevator from Duncan's loft down to the dojo, ready to start on the hunt again.

The sense of another Immortal increased as the elevator descended, as expected. Duncan had said he would be in the dojo working on the accounts. But he was not in his office; he was standing near the weight benches and talking to a man. She gave the stranger a quick glance as she lifted the gate, evaluating him as a possible enemy. He was slouching a bit, and he looked to be little shorter than Duncan, certainly more slightly built. But his slouch was deceptively casual, and the blue jeans and the baggy brown sweater he wore under his coat did not entirely hide the whipcord strength and grace in him.

Was he an Immortal? Probably. He was looking at her with the intensity that marked such meetings. Cassandra lifted the gate completely and stepped into the dojo, then looked at him again. This time, she did not give him a quick glance. She stared, dread coiling cold in the pit of her stomach.

It was Methos.

"You?" she demanded incredulously, then kicked herself mentally for being so stupid. Kronos was alive, why not Methos, too? And both of the Horsemen were in Seacouver, and they were undoubtedly working together. But what was Methos doing in Duncan's dojo, and why did they seem so friendly?

"Who's this?" Methos asked Duncan, apparently thinking he could pretend not to know her, thinking he could fool Duncan.

Cassandra was not going to be fooled. The man standing in front of her was Death. The hair was shorter, the facepaint was gone, the clothes were different, but it did not matter. She would know him anywhere, in any costume, in any time. He was Methos, and she was going to kill him. Hot rage replaced the cold dread. Never again would she cower in fear of him.

Cassandra pulled out her gun and shot him, three times. He died most satisfactorily, blood gushing from his mouth as he fell against the weight bench, his eyes rolling back in his head. Cassandra drew her sword.

"Cassandra, what are you doing?" Duncan demanded, and he moved to block her path.

"Stay out of this, MacLeod," she warned, incensed that he would actually come between her and her prey.

"No!" Duncan said. "You can't just shoot a man and then take his head."

"Wrong," Cassandra said coldly, as she pulled the trigger again and shot Duncan. She didn't bother to watch him hit the floor. She didn't want him interfering with her just now, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to use the Voice to control him while she was busy with Methos.

She went to stand over Methos, and as soon as he revived, she disemboweled the lying bastard with her sword. He squirmed on her blade, a worm on a hook, his eyes wide, his face white with pain. She finished the cut and pulled her sword out of him, enjoying the sucking sounds, and watched approvingly as he writhed in the pile of his bloody entrails. Death shouldn't come too easily for him. It never had for her.

Methos lay gasping, caught in that agonizing state known only to Immortals, trapped in a body trying to heal and a body trying to die.

"Well now, Methos," she crooned softly, watching him gag and shudder in pain, "are you going to die, or aren't you?" A pity she wouldn't have time to enjoy this, but she wasn't sure how long Duncan would be out of the way.

"Maybe you need some help," Cassandra said thoughtfully, and then she took Methos's head, hacking a bit to do it, since he was lying on the floor.

It was a good Quickening, as Quickenings go, longer than most, certainly, but then Methos was older than most. Or rather, Methos had been older than most. He was dead now. The lightning bolts blew out all the windows, one after the other, and various weights and barbells rolled about the room. Cassandra ended up on her knees, still holding onto her sword, breathing hard.

"Damn," she murmured as she started to clean her sword on a towel. "I broke a nail." And her hair needed brushing, but then that was always true after a Quickening.

Duncan revived about then, and he sat up and looked around. "Oh my God, Cassandra, you didn't!" he cried out, getting to his feet. "You took his head!"

"Of course I took his head," she answered, wondering how he could make such a stupid observation. "Isn't that what Immortals do? You've certainly done it often enough."

"But he was Methos," Duncan protested, seeming near tears. "The oldest Immortal."

"And this made him somehow special?" Cassandra asked, scrubbing at the last bit of intestine stuck near the hilt of her sword.

"He didn't even have his sword out!" Duncan yelled. "And you killed him!"

"Payback's a bitch, isn't it?" Cassandra said calmly, then sheathed her sword and tossed the bloody towel over towards Methos's body. It spattered the blood. "He killed me when I was unarmed. slaughtered my village, then killed me over and over again, in various inventive ways. I spared him that, at least. He only had to die twice."

"I don't believe it," Duncan said flatly. "Methos would never have done such things."

Cassandra shook her head in pity. "He certainly had you fooled. Look, I'd love to stay and chat, Duncan, but I have to go find Kronos." She headed for the door, but Duncan blocked her again.

"You can't just leave."

"Oh, can't I?" she asked him, smiling, then used the Voice of Command. "Get out of my way, Duncan," and he did. But she hadn't told him to be quiet.

"Damn it, Cassandra!" Duncan swore. "You killed me!"

"Master of the obvious, aren't you?" she said, trying to control her annoyance. "Look, Duncan, it was between me and him. It had nothing to do with you, so I got you out of the way."

"He was my friend!"

"So?" Cassandra didn't see the point of this. "We're Immortals, Duncan. It happens. How have you managed to survive this long?" She looked him up and down and shook her head again. "I would have thought Connor had taught you better than this. 'There can be only one,' and 'Don't interfere.' Remember those rules?"

"What about the other rules?" he asked coldly. "What about honor?"

She nodded slowly, acknowledging that. "I believe I asked Methos the same question once. He laughed, and then he said, 'Fools value honor. Survivors value power.' Those are the rules he lived by; those are the rules he died by."

"He wasn't like that!" Duncan protested, that familiar stubborn look on his face.

She really didn't have time for this argument right now. She walked over and picked up Methos's head by the hair, then wrapped it in another towel. Bloodstains were so hard to get out. As she left, she called over her shoulder, "Send me the bill for the windows!"

It took her a few hours of hunting, but she found Kronos eventually, holed up in an abandoned power-station, south of Seacouver. She sat in her car and watched the building for a while, then gathered up the head and her sword and went in.

The sensation of another Immortal crawled into her skull as she entered the main hall. Kronos's voice- -that hated, mocking voice she had not heard for millennia and still remembered perfectly- -echoed off the concrete walls and the metal pipes and silent machinery.

"You're late," he said, and she supposed he thought he was talking to Methos. "I hope you brought his sword," Kronos continued.

Damn. That would have been perfect, to kill Kronos with his brother's sword. Still, any blade would do well enough for a beheading. "No, but I brought his head," she called as she came into his view, and then she tossed it to him.

Kronos lurched up from his desk, and Cassandra allowed herself a split-second to enjoy the rage and shock on his face, then she shot him in the chest, six times. The bullets slammed him back onto the metal floor, and the echoes slowly died. Cassandra approached cautiously then shot him in the head from a few feet away. Best to be careful, and she wasn't about to make any "Evil Overlord" mistakes like waiting for him to revive so she could gloat over him.

She lifted her sword and sent Kronos to join his brother, then watched the head bounce along the floor until the lightning came. The Quickening was intense, but not as long as Methos's had been. Some things never change.

When it was over, Cassandra stayed on her knees for quite some time, breathing slowly. Nine-thousand-years worth of Quickenings in one day was too much. Every single nerve in her body hummed with energy.

Finally, she pulled herself to her feet and started to clean her sword with an old rag. "Damn," she swore. "There goes another nail."

Still, it hadn't been a bad day, all in all. Two broken nails and messed up hair were a reasonable price to pay for two dead Horsemen. Cassandra tossed the rag on the floor and left the power station. She needed a drink, and she needed to get laid. Unfortunately, Duncan probably wouldn't be too cooperative right now. It might take him a few centuries to calm down. A mortal wouldn't have nearly enough stamina for what she needed. Maybe Duncan's student-Randy or Ricky or something like that-was in town.

He should be easy enough to seduce. Cassandra got in her car and started hunting again.

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_This story was written in response to a challenge first posted on the Rysher Forum, regarding Cassandra's reaction at the unexpected appearance of Methos in Duncan's dojo.  
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_Special thanks to my faithful beta readers: Bridget, Vi, Selena, Cathy, and Robin. (All of whom really want me to be working on various other stories, but kindly looked at this one anyway.) _


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